The Father Hunt (14 page)

I accomplished something else on Sunday. I took Lily Rowan and Amy Denovo to a double-header at Shea Stadium, and got the client back to the penthouse safe and sound.

Monday morning a sunburned woman at the East and West Realty Corporation gave us the name of the previous agent, Kauffman Management Company, and at their office on Forty-second Street we were lucky enough to find a smart and active young man who believed in giving service. He spent half an hour looking up old records. The man who had been the superintendent at Ten East Thirty-ninth Street in 1944, named William Polk, had died in 1962. There was no record of the names of any of the service personnel, but there was a complete list of the 1944 tenants-twenty-two of them, counting Floyd Vance-and we copied it. The smart young man said there was no one active in the Kauffman Management Company who had been there for twenty-three years. Bernard Kauffman, who had founded it, was dead.

Saul and I each took half of the list of tenants and went to work on them. I could make a full report on the first four I tackled, but this is not a treatise on economics or sociology. It was the fifth one that rang the gong, a little before five o’clock in the afternoon-a woman named Dorothy Sebor, fifty, gray-haired and blue-eyed and fully as smart as the young man at the Kauffman Management

Company-who beaded and probably owned the Sebor Shopping Service in a tenth-floor suite at Rockefeller Center. She was busy. The forty minutes I spent with her wouldn’t have been more than half that if the phone hadn’t interrupted several times, and I might have had a problem getting to her if I hadn’t sent in word that I wanted to ask her something about Ten East Thirty-ninth Street. When I entered her room she asked if I was the Archie Goodwin who worked for Nero Wolfe, and when I said yes she asked, “But what can I possibly tell you about Ten East Thirty-ninth Street'I left eighteen years ago. I loved that dump. Sit down.”

I sat. “I don’t know what you can tell me, Miss Sebor, but I know what I want to ask. A job we’re on goes back pretty far and it’s nineteen forty-four we’re interested in. Would you mind telling me what floor you were on?”

“No, why should I'The ninth. In the rear.”

“We understand that another of the tenants was named Floyd Vance. Did you know him?”

“I wouldn’t say I knew him. I knew him by sight, he was on the same floor, the ninth, down the hall toward the front. We exchanged nods, remarks about the weather; you know how it is.”

My hand didn’t want to go to my pocket. It had pulled those damn pictures out too many times for too many people. But it obeyed orders and out came lie seven photographs. “The quickest way,” I said, “is for you to take a look at these and tell me if you recognize anyone.” As I stretched an arm to hand them to her the phone rang, and she put the pictures on the desk. When she finished telling someone what to do and hung up she picked them up and started looking. At the fourth one-I always had it in the middle-she widened her eyes, looked at me, looked at the photograph again, and said, “It’s& not Vance& Vaughn, that’s it. Carlotta. Carlotta Vaughn.” The blue eyes aimed at me, a little narrowed. “I saw her name not long ago, in an ad in two papers. The ad said something about alias somebody.”

“You knew her?”

“Yes. She worked for that Floyd Vance. Or with him,

I didn’t know which.” '

I had two strong conflicting impulses simultaneously:

to give her a good hug and kiss her on both cheeks, and to pull her nose for not answering the ad a week ago. I put one of them into words. “Miss Sebor,” I said, “you are the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on and if I knew what color you like I would buy you ten do/en roses. With our client’s money, of course.”

She smiled, more with her eyes than her mouth. “My shopping service hasn’t worked much on florists, but it would be interesting to try. Apparently I’ve dealt you an ace.”

“Four of them. You’ve answered a question that I was beginning to think would never be answered. If you will-“

“Is Carlotta Vaughn your client'No, of course not, not if you placed that ad. You’re trying to find her?”

“No. She’s dead. I’d like to tell you about it, but you’re busy and it’s a long story, and as our client says, it’s very personal. If you’ll answer a few more questions I’ll be extremely grateful. Was it in-“

The phone. That time it took longer; she was telling someone what not to do. She finally finished it and returned to me. “I’ll ask you a question, Mr. Goodwin. I liked Carlotta Vaughn, and she impressed me as a very competent young woman. I didn’t see a lot of her-we had lunch together a few times-but I saw enough of her to be impressed. I was trying to get my business started and it was hard going, and I tried to persuade her to go in with me, as a partner, but she wouldn’t. I liked her very much. You say she’s dead. Would she approve of what you’re doing?”

I lied. I could have dodged and wriggled, a lot of guff, that I hadn’t known Carlotta Vaughn and therefore could only guess, and if and but and even so, but I preferred a straight lie. “Yes,” I said, “she certainly would. It was a long time ago, but you may remember. When did you first see her?”

“That’s easy. I’ll never forget that first winter; I still have the scars. I started, rented that one room, in the fall ” of nineteen forty-three, and I first saw Carlotta the next spring-early spring, April, or it could have been March. I suppose the first time was in the hall or the elevator, I don’t remember.”

“Then she was there in the spring and summer of nineteen forty-four.”

She nodded. “That’s right, nineteen forty-four.”

“Do you remember when you saw her last?”

“Not definitely, no. Not to name a date, but when I hadn’t seen her for a while I asked Floyd Vance about her and he said& ” She frowned and shook her head. “Something vague. She had gone somewhere or something.”

“Was that in summer, or fall, or winter?”

“Not winter. By November my business was beginning to show some signs of life, and I wanted to tell Carlotta, but she wasn’t there. It was probably in October.”

“That would make it a total of six or seven months. You said you didn’t know if she worked for Floyd Vance, or with him. But she was there every day, in his office?”

“I don’t know about every day. But most of the time, yes, she was there. He was in public relations. I don’t know if he still is, I know nothing about him. He left Number Ten-I think it was two years after Carlotta left.”

“I have the impression that your liking for Carlotta didn’t extend to him,”

“It didn’t. I didn’t know him, really, and I didn’t want to. He thought he was handsome and charming, and perhaps he was, but I thought he was-well, flashy. Not the kind of man I would work either for or with. And if you -good lord, is he your client?”

“He is not. I doubt if there are many men of any kind you would work for or with.”

She smiled, more with her mouth than her eyes. “I’ve never tried and don’t intend to. I wouldn’t mind having a man of your kind working for me. How much does Nero Wolfe pay you?”

“Nothing. I work for love of the job. I meet interesting people like you. If I get fed up and quit I’ll come and remind you. Speaking of quitting, do you suppose Carlotta quit Vance because her opinion of him was about the same as yours'She might have said-“

The phone again-an important customer, judging from the conversation-and then she made calls to two employees, giving one of them detailed instructions and the

other one hell. As she hung up she looked at her watch. “It’s getting late,” she said, “and I have a pile of work.”

“So have I, thanks to you.” I rose to my feet. “Do you suppose your opinion of Vance rubbed off on Carlotta?”

“I doubt it. If it did she wouldn’t have told me. She was very& self-contained.”

“Do you shake hands with men?”

She laughed-a good healthy laugh. “Occasionally. If I want them to do something.”

“Then I qualify.” I put a hand out. “You want me to leave.”

Her grip was firm and friendly. “If you get fed up,” she said, “I could pay you fifteen thousand to start.”

“I’ll remember. What color roses do you like?”

“Green with black borders. If you sent me ten dozen roses I’d sell them to some customer. I’m a businesswoman.”

She certainly was.

When Wolfe came down from the plant rooms at six o’clock, I was sprawled in my chair, no necktie, with my shoes off and my feet up on one of the yellow chairs, reading a magazine. As he crossed to his desk I gave him a lazy nod, yawned, and returned to the magazine. The sound came of his chair taking the seventh of a ton. I didn’t see his glare because my back was turned, but I felt it. He demanded, “A stroke'The heat?”

I turned my head around casually. “No, sir, I’m fine. I’m just relaxing. Saul phoned a few minutes ago and I invited him to dinner. The job is finished. Floyd Vance is Miss Denovo’s father. I was going to ring her and tell her, but maybe you’d rather tell her yourself.”

“Pfui. Report.”

I got my feet to the floor, no hurry, straightened up, and bent over to put my shoes on. When I am doing desk work the door to the hall and most of the room are behind me, and on the wall back of my desk is a mirror five feet wide and four feet high, for keeping an eye on people. I used it to put my tie on, combed my hair with my fingers, swiveled, and said, “I don’t suppose you’ll ever want the painful details of what led up to it, but if you do I’ll be glad to oblige. An hour and a half ago a woman named Dorothy Sebor who runs, repeat runs, a shopping service in Rockefeller Center, said to me, ‘But what can I possibly tell you about Ten East Thirty-ninth Street'I left there eighteen years ago. I loved that dump. Sit down.’ If you don’t mind I’ll use my formula, not yours. I prefer T and ’she’ to ‘Goodwin’ and ‘Sebor.’ “

I gave it to him verbatim, with him, as always, leaning

back with his eyes closed. When I finished he sat for a full minute, no movement, and then moved only his lips to mutter, “Very satisfactory.”

“It was about time,” I said with feeling. “Questions.”

His eyes opened. “Why roses?”

I nodded. “I expected that. It came out without thinking, probably because she had struck me as not the type for orchids. She could probably get a lot more for Nero Wolfe orchids than for run-of-the-nursery roses.”

“We’ll send her some sprays of Phalaenopsis Aphrodite. They have never been finer. Having had time to consider it, you regard the job as finished?”

“I was just smacking my lips after so many hungry days. One will get you fifty that Floyd Vance is the father, but I admit it wouldn’t be enough for a jury. It might be enough for the client, but I also admit there are other angles.”

“Specify them.”

“Well. The angle most important to us is your honor. Four days ago I said to Cramer, ‘I am authorized to give you Mr. Wolfe’s word of honor that if we get anything you might be able to use we’ll pass it on to you before we make any use of it ourselves.’ I added, ‘At least two minutes before,’ but that didn’t cancel the commitment. We now have these items: One: Carlotta Vaughn became pregnant in the summer of nineteen forty-four and almost certainly wasn’t married. Two: she spent the entire summer of nineteen forty-four in close association with Floyd Vance. Three: on Monday, May twenty-second, nineteen sixty-seven, four days before Carlotta Vaughn, who was then Elinor Denovo, died, Floyd Vance tried to see her and was chased by the receptionist, and he had been trying to see her before. I’d hate to undertake to tell Cramer that those three items, taken together, are not something he might be able to use. Of course your honor is your lookout, but I mortgaged it.”

He grunted. “My lookout and my responsibility. Go on.” “Then the angle that may interest me more than it does you. My honor isn’t involved, but my feelings are, because I got my ass kicked twice by Cyrus M. Jarrett and I would like to return the compliment. What kind of a connection was there, and is there, between Jarrett

and Vance that caused Jarrett to start sending checks to Carlotta Vaughn, alias Elinor Denovo, two weeks after her baby was born and to keep on sending them until her death'That could be another item that Cramer might be able to use, but that’s not why / want to know. Also, of course, Miss Denovo would like to know. I believe in satisfying the client. I also believe in satisfying me. All right, I withdraw my brag; the job is not finished. It’s your move.”

I expected him to start the lip act, but he merely cocked his head. “The point,” he said, “is that we don’t know which of two alternative situations faces us. If he is the father but not a murderer, establishing it will be dim- cult if not impossible. He did that many years ago. But if 9 he is also a murderer the situation is much simpler; he did :, that only three months ago. We’ll resolve that and then decide how to proceed. Can you get him here this evening?”

“For what'Do I ask him if he still wants to meet you?”

“That would do to start. If he says no, tell him I want to meet him. Tell him I want to ask him why he didn’t reply to the advertisement requesting information about Carlotta Vaughn, alias Elinor Denovo.”

I had noted the listing of Vance’s home phone, but got the directory to check on the number, and found that my memory had it right. It was a quarter to seven when I dialed, and if he ate out I would probably get no answer. But after two rings I got a hello.

“Mr. Floyd Vance, please?”

“I’m Floyd Vance.”

“I’m Archie Goodwin. I work for Nero Wolfe. You may remember that we met at Lily Rowan’s place, and you-“

“I remember.”

“And you said you would like to meet Nero Wolfe to make a proposal. I reminded Mr. Wolfe of that just now when we were discussing something, and he decided he would also like to meet you. Could you come this evening, say at nine o’clock?”

Silence. Five seconds. “This is short notice.”

“I know. It’s not as urgent as a five-alarm fire, but if it’s not too inconvenient& the address is-“

“I know the address.” Silence. “You say nine o’clock?”

“Right. Or later if that would suit you better.” “Don’t be so goddam polite. I’ll be there around nine.” As I hung up, the doorbell rang, and I went, expecting Saul, and it was. I opened the door only a couple of inches and said through the crack, “You may not want to come in. No champagne. There are angles.”

It was my fault. When Saul had phoned I had just got home, so pleased with myself and wanting to spread joy around that I had not only invited him to dinner but had also told him I would have a bottle of Dom Perignon ready to open. Then the angles had made it obvious that putting champagne in the refrigerator would be premature and I hadn’t gone to the kitchen. Not that Saul needed any explanations or apologies; that long dry spell had got on his nerves too.

Anyway, along with the clams and broiled turtle steaks he drank more than half of a bottle of Montrachet, so all he missed was bubbles.

With coffee, in the office after dinner, we settled the program. When Vance arrived Saul would go to the front room, and as soon as the guest was in the office and seated he would leave, to go to 490 Lexington Avenue and collect likely objects for fingerprints. Since he had seen the lock he knew which keys to take from the assortments in the cabinet, and after he made his selections he helped me prepare the props in the office. We did a thorough wiping job on twelve objects: the stand by the red leather chair, two ash trays-one on the stand and one on the corner of Wolfe’s desk-two photographs of Elinor Denovo in a drawer of Wolfe’s desk, four glasses of different kinds, since we didn’t know what he would drink, two books of matches-one on the stand and one on Wolfe’s desk-and every inch of the red leather chair. Now and then I took a second for a glance at Wolfe, for comic relief. He sat with his fingers laced at the summit of his center mound, scowling at us. He knew darned well that what we were doing was a lot more important than anything he could possibly be thinking, and it hurt. He would have loved to take the position, and hold it, that he could solve any problem on earth or in outer space by leaning back and closing his eyes and working his lips. The trouble was that the little chores Saul and I did for

him were nearly always done somewhere else, but that time it was going on right there in his office, before his eyes. I was surprised that he didn’t get up and go to the kitchen.

Amy’s father rang the doorbell at ten after nine. As I went to admit him Saul headed for the connecting door to the front room, and as I took him to the office and to the red leather chair I did something that I had done many times although I had learned long ago that it was absolutely useless. For a spectator in a courtroom to try to decide from a man’s looks if he’s guilty or not is natural and he has to pass the time somehow, but for a working detective it’s pure crap. So I did it again. I looked at Vance’s purled eyes, flabby cheeks, thin hair, saggy shoulders, down to his brown shoes that needed a shine, actually hoping to get a slant on the question, Did he kill Elinor Denovo'Nuts.

By the time I got to nuts Wolfe was saying, “& not that I scorn all trite expressions; some of the finest words and phrases in the language were once vulgarisms and are well worn. But a faddish cliche like ‘image’ as now abused is an abomination. You told Mr. Goodwin that my ‘public image’ needs expert handling and you would like to meet me. If you have some proposal to make I’ll listen as a matter of courtesy, but don’t call my repute my image.”

“To hell with your courtesy. Shove it.” Vance’s voice was not as I remembered it. I had thought he was a fairly smooth talker that Sunday, but now the words came out blurry. He went on, “I’ve learned something about you since I talked with Goodwin. You don’t give a damn about your public image. Did you get me here just to tell me you don’t like cliches'Do I go home now?”

Wolfe nodded. “That’s your question, why I got you here. My question is, Why did you come'I doubt if either of us expects a candid answer. In fact, Mr. Vance, I’m in some confusion about my objective. One possibility is that I would like to know why you prevailed on your friends to drive you to Miss Rowan’s so you could meet Mr. Goodwin. Another possibility is that I would like to know why you made several attempts to see Mrs. Elinor Denovo last May. Still another is that I want to

ask you about your association with Miss Carlotta Vaughn in the summer of nineteen forty-four. And again, another is that I wondered why you didn’t reply to an advertisement which appeared-“

“Jesus. Give me a pad and pencil. I’ll have to make notes.”

We hadn’t wiped a pad. You can’t think of everything. I got one from a drawer, and a pencil, and went with them, and he took them, probably because he was uncertain what to do with his tongue and so was glad to have something to do with his hands.

“As you see,” Wolfe said, “I have-since you fancy cliches-an embarrassment of riches.” His head tilted; I hadn’t sat. “Beer, please, Archie?”

“Yes, sir.” I took a step and stopped. “Something wet, Mr. Vance?”

He shook his head and said emphatically, “No.” I started out, foiled because a glass or bottle is a “best bet, and as I neared the door Ms voice stopped me. “What the hell. Scotch and water. And ice.”

Fritz, having been told that he wouldn’t be needed, had gone out. In the kitchen I put Wolfe’s beer and glass on a tray, and on another tray a wiped glass, a bowl which I wiped before putting icecubes in it, a pitcher which I wiped before putting water in it, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black which I also wiped. That took a while and made me miss something. When I got to the office with the trays Vance had used his hands some more and had a cigar lit, so I didn’t know if he carried them loose or in a case, or if he had used the matches on the stand. The cigar was a long panatela, nothing like a Gold Label Bonita, but that didn’t bother me; if he had left that case in the hit-and-run car it would have been common prudence to switch. After serving the trays I went back to the kitchen for a glass of milk and when I returned to the office Vance had Ms glass in his hand and Wolfe was talking.

“& for I have no intention or desire to make any demand or indictment, and I don’t think my client has either. I want only what I have been hired to get, information. I can’t name my client, but if my questions reveal her identity to you, that in itself would answer my basic

question. The advertisement plainly implied that the woman once known as Carlotta Vaughn was later known as Elinor Denevo, but if you prefer to tell me nothing about Elinor Denovo we’ll restrict it to Carlotta Vaughn. By the way& “

He opened a drawer and took out the two photographs. I had cautioned him not to handle them in a way that would make it obvious that he was taking care not to leave prints-the Police Department files already had samples of his-and he did all right, perfectly normal as he handed them to me and I passed them on to Vance.

“She was Elinor Denovo when those were taken,” Wolfe said, “but had been Carlotta Vaughn only a year or two previously, so you should recognize her.”

Vance handled them normally too. He had put his glass down, and with one in each hand he gave them a look, first the three-quarters face and then the profile. He looked at Wolfe. “So what'Sure I recognize her.” He put the photographs on the stand. “I’m not denying that I once knew a woman named Carlotta Vaughn.” He picked up his glass and drank.

“When and where did you first meet her?”

“In the spring of nineteen forty-four.” He was no longer blurring his words; apparently a few swallows of Scotch with very little water had helped. “I think it was late March. My God, it was twenty-three years ago.”

“Where?” Wolfe had opened his bottle but hadn’t poured.

“I don’t remember. I suppose some party. I was under thirty and I got around.”

“And you hired her?”

“Well& yes.”

“You paid her a salary?”

Vance took a swallow. “Look,” he said, “I’m not going to toot my horn. As I said, I was under thirty, and girls were no problem. They seemed to like my style. This Carlotta Vaughn got it hard. I wasn’t setting any rivers on fire in my business and she knew it-what the hell, everybody knew it-and she wanted to help, and she was smart. So I let her help. No, I didn’t pay her.”

“How long did she continue to help?”

“Oh, all summer. Into fall. Six months, perhaps seven.”

“Why did she stop?”

“I didn’t ask her. She just stopped.”